He nodded. "True, true," he said, and advancing he took her cold hand gently and led her to the chair near his own.
They sat down together.
"That sense of things is the flat, stale, unprofitable stuff we hear about," he added. "You've been sick, too, they tell me."
"Who could tell you that?"
"The young man in Judge Trent's office. Dunham's his name."
Sylvia's face crimsoned, and she pulled her hand from its kindly prison.
"Then he has broken his word," she said passionately.
"Steady, my girl. Perhaps you haven't the facts, and you can't think right till you have, you know."
"He promised he wouldn't talk to Uncle Calvin about me."
"Perhaps he hasn't. You didn't think I was Judge Trent in disguise, did you?"